


And the Promises You Hold

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, M/M, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants to make a sex tape and has an idea to overcome the whole eye flare thing. Derek lets him try it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Promises You Hold

**Author's Note:**

> Ages ago (like January), TasteTheRainbow prompted me with "hit record" during the second round of Stop Drop Howl. I wrote some boy band AU with it and am moderately pleased with that. But this was the other idea I had and I kinda like it. For all that it is ridiculously sappy.

“Come on, you said you’d do it.” Stiles actually pouts a little as he looks at Derek, who’s paused in the act of stripping off his shirt.

Derek isn’t sure when Stiles became so persistent but he’s normally happy enough to go along with his ideas. He’s happy enough to go along with this one, when all’s said and done. He sort of likes seeing Stiles wheedle and beg and taunt him though. He’s not entirely sure what that says about him but this time he’s really just putting up token resistance to make Stiles ask him again. In some ways, he’s also making sure Stiles really wants to do this. Asking for something in the middle of sex and asking for it again in the light of day are two very, very different things after all.

Stiles narrows his eyes a little, lips parted slightly. “You’re just testing me, right? I knew it.” And then Stiles goes back to fiddling with the camera he’s got set up on a tripod. Then Stiles stopped. “Of course, if you don’t-“

“I do.” Derek pulls off his shirt and dumps it onto the pile of clothes on the floor. He shimmies out of his boxers as well, lying back on the bed as Stiles manages to finally get the perfect angle or whatever and gives a little dorky dance of joy. It’s abominably cute and Derek bites back a smile as Stiles catches himself halfway through his routine and tries to act like the adult he is supposed to be. 

“Stop laughing at me and get on the bed, bucko.” Stiles points sternly and, for some reason, that made Derek’s dick harden infinitesimally more. 

“How do you want me?” Derek asks. He’s supposed to be teasing and light. He should ask Stiles who the fuck uses bucko anymore. But instead his voice is breathier, harsher, rougher than he intends. It’s like a switch has been flicked, going from their usual back and forth to a place they tend to go in the middle of the night, with no lights on, no barriers between them. It’s the place they end up when either – or both – of them have nearly been killed. Derek’s not quite sure he’s entirely ready to make Stiles put a name on it yet. He’s got one himself, but it’s still frighteningly terrifying to put into actual words.

Stiles is an expert at reading his face anyway.

“On your back.” Stiles’s voice is quieter now too. Derek risks a glance at him. Stiles is biting his lip before his nods, once, to himself and then turns back to the camera and presses the switch. There’s an electronic beep, loud to Derek’s ears. “I want you on your back.”

Derek shifts around until he’s almost in the middle of the bed. He keeps his head to one side, propped on a pillow. It would defeat the purpose of all this if he was to let his head slip down, hide. He half wants to hide. The camera has a steady red light on the front and it seems to taunt him. 

Stiles is still behind the camera and – more importantly – Stiles is still dressed. He almost seems to have forgotten what they’re about to do here, his eyes wide as he looks Derek up and down. He’s seen Derek naked a whole bunch of times. Even before they began… this. Derek was a werewolf and sometimes, occasionally, he became a wolf. And wolves do not wear clothes. Stiles had made a huge deal about that the first time Derek came out of a full shift in front of him. Warmth seemed to follow Stiles’s eyes as he swept them up and down Derek’s body.

“Stiles?” Derek’s voice is still low and soft. He almost doesn’t want the camera to pick this up, feeling even more unclothed by its presence. Then Stiles shakes himself out of his daze and crosses in front of the camera to pick up the whole point of this exercise.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just keep your eyes closed?” Stiles knots the scarf in his hands, twisting it around his long, clever fingers. That makes Derek’s gut clench. 

“I might-“ Derek pauses, swallows. “I won’t be able to not look at you.” He feels his mouth slip into a wry grin. He’s embarrassed and he wants to make this all a joke but he can’t. Stiles falls forward then, sprawling over him to kiss Derek hard. And Derek’s eyes are wide open when Stiles pulls up. “I trust you.”

Three little words. 

Stiles flips the scarf around in his hands once more before coming to kneel across Derek, his worn jeans rough and soft against Derek’s skin. “Head up.” Even though it’s said with a smile, Stiles makes it a command and Derek just obeys. The scarf doesn’t block out all the light in the room but it’s thick enough that Derek’s eyes won’t cause the video to flare, will mean Stiles will be able to watch this back in his tiny new dorm room on a campus that’s near enough to be within easy reach but far enough away to not be home, to be new and strange and a whole world away from Beacon Hills. And from Derek.

He might not be able to see but it doesn’t mean he can’t tell what Stiles is doing as he strips his clothes off in a hurry, swearing softly as his arms get tangled in his shirts and his shoe won’t come off first time. Derek is content to wait, turning his head to follow the noise and smell of Stiles’s stumblings. He knows when Stiles’s boxers slide down. He can hear the rustle of the cotton but more importantly the scent of slick pre-come. Derek lets his arms drift up, wraps his hands around the metal bars of the headboard. He held on tight as he heard Stiles’s breathing quicken, heard his heartbeat pound like drums in a marching band.

“You- You look-“ Stiles is out of words. He lets slip a soft “Derek” as he crawls up onto the bed, fitting himself alongside Derek, naked skin pressing close as Stiles puts firm fingertips on Derek’s chin and turns him into the waiting kiss. And Derek lets him.

The kiss starts as a soft brush of mouths, gentle and almost casual. They could have been on the sofa one wet Sunday afternoon, watching an old black and white movie. Stiles nudged his quirk of a nose against Derek’s cheek, brushing his lips across the wet slick of Derek’s mouth. Unhurried. It didn’t make Derek any less hard, any less eager, but he let Stiles take what he wanted – what he needed. And he knew his… He knew Stiles. Derek could feel the hard press of Stiles’s cock against his leg, rubbing almost absently. Stiles wouldn’t be able to ignore that for too long before the need to take took precedent over everything. Derek liked it when Stiles lost control like that.

Stiles drew out the kiss, slowly letting his tongue taste, breaking away to take a breath and mouthing at the curve of Derek’s jawline, biting a little when Derek lifted his chin, exposing his neck. The slow roll of Stiles’s hip against his thigh got quicker then, a little less nonchalant and a whole lot more deliberate. Derek kept his hands fixed fast round the struts of the headboard. He half wanted to lift Stiles up, roll them over, make Stiles come fast and messy and hard. But this was Stiles’s show. He wanted something of Derek to keep.

Derek had almost told him exactly what he had to keep when they’d talked about this. But that hadn’t been the time. This wasn’t the time either. Maybe there’d never be the right time. Maybe he should just man up and tell Stiles exactly how much he-

“Come back to me,” Stiles whispered into the kiss, mouth harder now. Against his side, pressed close, Derek could feel Stiles trembling ever so slightly. Maybe that wasn’t the right word. Tiny shudders of want would be closer, as their kissing turned dirtier, mouths wide and tongues all but fucking into each other’s mouths. Finally Stiles crawled up on top of Derek, stretching out over him and fumbling for the lube on the nightstand as they kept right on kissing. The tip of Stiles’s dick painted a wet streak across Derek’s abs before Stiles shifted again, lower, rubbing his cock against Derek’s.

Derek would have happily come like that – slick, wet, pressed together – but Stiles had other plans. It was easy to forget the camera as Stiles slithered down, kissing, biting, before swallowing Derek’s cock down with an ease that only came with practiced intimacy. The steel of the headboard cut into his palms as Derek tightened his hands to stop himself from thrusting up into the wet and warmth of Stiles’s mouth. Derek had an image of himself tied down, chain and ropes crisscrossing his body, kept fast for Stiles. Trussed up like some ridiculous present. All for Stiles. Only for Stiles.

Eventually, Stiles pulled off with a pop and Derek waited. He didn’t know what the next step was going to be. Stiles would get him there, though. He wouldn’t leave him like this. Derek tried to listen and guess but all he heard was Stiles flicking the top of the lube open and snapping it shut again, like he was weighing up his options. 

“I’m- You can-“ Derek could feel his cheeks heating as he looked blindly at Stiles. “Fuck me?” He didn’t mean to make it a question.

Stiles let out a too-high laugh (a giggle) as he shifted on the bed. “Who’s in charge here?” He meant it as a tease but Derek wasn’t really thinking straight by then.

“You.” The word hung between them for an instant before Stiles was kissing him again, wild, like he was the one with a beast inside him. It was almost as if Stiles wanted to eat him all up as he dragged his teeth down Derek’s neck, across his collarbone to bite down on his shoulder. Derek couldn’t stop his hips at that, feeling them punch upwards, seeking anything. Another laugh – delighted and shaky, and Stiles was sitting across his thighs, keeping him pinned as he grabbed the lube, opened it, and spilled a little too much over his fingers. The scent made Derek’s head spin.

The sounds Stiles made when he was being fingered open were meant to drive Derek wild. There was the wet slip of his fingers, sure, but it was the soft gasps, pushed out of bitten raw lips, the way Stiles wasn’t even aware how ragged and raw his breathing had become as he pushed for more and more, greedy. He didn’t taunt though, or make himself wait. Instead Stiles’s slick hand wrapped around Derek’s spit-soaked cock, rubbing quickly before Stiles wiped his hand on the sheets. “Ready?”

Derek nodded. It seemed like too much effort to make his voice work. Instead he felt Stiles rise up and settle down, holding Derek’s cock to help him impale himself. By now, usually, Derek would have left soft dark marks on the pale skin of Stiles’s hips – not enough to hurt but enough to stake a possessive claim. But he kept his hands wrapped around the headboard as Stiles worked himself down, rocking his hips, circling them, always sliding down, slow and steady.

When he was seated, Derek greedily swallowed in air. He hadn’t even been aware he’d been holding his breath. He couldn’t see Stiles – couldn’t read his face to see if he was ready for more, to see if he was happy and ready and revealing something Derek hoped he was reading correctly – but every sound, scent, touch seemed magnified. Stiles started to ride him, then, hands splayed on Derek’s chest, pushing himself up and down as fast as he could. This wasn’t going to take long – Derek couldn’t last much longer. He wanted to rip off the blindfold, grab Stiles and push him down, slide in hard and fast. Derek planted his feet, letting his hips rise up, meet Stiles on his down stroke.

Stiles was stripping his cock fast, the wet noise another leash slipped from Derek’s control. He was speaking too, nonsense words tumbling out, swearing and groans and Derek’s name and words Stiles probably didn’t even know he was saying. “So close,” he finally ground out. Derek quickened his thrusts, chasing his own orgasm now. “Yeah.”

It was the smell of Stiles’s come that finally made Derek thrust up hard, brought his hands flying off the headboard to grab Stiles and hold him a little too close, a little too firm. Stiles didn’t seem to mind though, clutching at Derek’s shoulders, holding him tightly as Derek came. Then Stiles was kissing him again, frantic now, mouth little more than a panting, wet mess. Derek clung tight, unwilling to let go. He almost didn’t want to take off the blindfold, half-afraid this Stiles would vanish, be nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

It was the smell – the smell of their combined scents – that made Derek remember that this was all real. He got to have this. He smiled into the kiss. “You want to turn the camera off.”

Stiles knocked his forehead into Derek’s before sliding off him. He muttered something that only werewolf hearing could translate into “Can’t move”.

Derek tucked him under the sheets before taking off the blindfold, switching off the camera and joining him.

**Author's Note:**

> I am akadougal on [tumblr](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/akadougal) but you're more likely to find me spilling my guts on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akadougal). Because I am old.


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